Saturday, September 20, 2008

Fixed finished jocund ecstasy

I have no fears. I am just so cross and a creep tripping on six joints and kegs and barrels of barley.
When you were here before,
couldn't look you in the eye.
You're just like an angel,
your skin makes me cry.
You float like a feather,
in a beautiful world
I wish I was special,
you're so fucking special.

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here.

I don't care if it hurts,
I want to have control.
I want a perfect body,
I want a perfect soul.
I want you to notice,
when I'm not around.
You're so fucking special,
I wish I was special.

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?.
I don't belong here

She's running out the door,
she's running,
she run, run, run, run, run.

Whatever makes you happy,
whatever you want.
You're so fucking special,
I wish I was special,

but I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here,
I don't belong here.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Om Mani Padme Hum

I am a jewel creep aligator elvero sanchez with paunch worms writhing under the weight of my intestinal coils and roped heavy lashes.
Give me energy, give me peace, give me love, unconditional love most of all
Om Mani Padme Hum
Four noble truths of my life:

I will not stop seeking love in every fellow

I will paint, sing and write

Buddha, you will forever guide me in all darkness of idle sorrowful worship crises

I will not demean my own imperfect figurine.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Another man may marry me off

Pha! She likes cats a lot and this word too. With all wisdom in her mind she said, what education! Shataa only! Find a nice guy and we will get you married off. There are those around, aren't they? One nice smart, wealthy yet industrious man. What more do you want woman! Let's get on with this college drama, then good panorama. Forget too big dreams. The words are so comforting, they make ordinary actions so normal and obvious to me. Actually, not a bad option just that they are too many of them. But not the one blah blah...coud you replace it with brak brak brak....emow emow emow... Some day will come when this society that takes upon itself the greater responsibility of finding you a food giver will thrust upon someone the headache of your emotional needs too. Don't expect too much understanding, dreaming, arguing gas. All jazz. Just live like a good quite girl and prepare for a wedding. Some years later it is the super aim of your destiny! You will help please me in your own way, will tell you when the time comes. Play violin till then and rehabilitate my soul like always. Black acrid sputum till uvula. Heavy rants!

Monday, September 15, 2008

Super charged obscene dreams

I had one of these. Obscene not to the outer eye to which it can be narrated but very subjectively obscene as an experience which bunches, clutches all obscene experiences that I have had while growing up. The dream starts when it is drizzling, it is around six in the evening, about to be dark. I am tired, very tired after a day at some work place. I board a bus and outside it is dark now. While still on the way the bus stops and almost automatically, I get down out of the bus. In retro it makes me think I wanted to reach home but since now the image of home is not so welcoming and concrete, I am not certain about the destination. Once I get down, on my left, I see a long straight dark road. Again, as if it were etched in the mind, I know I am ill and that I must see a doctor. The doctor lives in this very street and I must see him. Somehow, suddenly I realise I am wearing my school uniform all this way, peach shirt and chocolate skirt with a black school bag slung at the back. Before I go to the building at the end of the road,I must leave my bag behind. So, I walk halfway down where there is a building on my left. It has two levels, A and B. To get to A I have to climb B. But B is like a huge table made of bricks painted in pale yellow. By the time I climb it to put my bag on A, B shakes and I fall down. The bag is safe up there. So, now I start running towards the other building. I can feel every pleat of the skirt swish near my knees, sweat all over me. While I was in the middle of the road reaching the building, my feet did a backflip. I could feel the anxiety of having left my phone in the bag, the yellow display flashing and beeps ringing. I half wished to go back and get it. While the feet charged ahead, the eyes stuck on the bag, what I could see was all split. In this split of the gaze I saw the fugitive. There has to be one. I recognised him in a flash. I wish I could draw him. He is the same one who hounded me for class 6, 7 and 8. I wonder if I was mentally retarded or just stunted then. Initially he would follow me only on some days on his bicycle. I did not even notice. Then, gradually it became a daily affair to grab attention. I feel like a real slut with so many encounters quite subconsciously. I was so afraid of him that I used to cycle fast everyday to end this trauma. His following was limited to a certain patch. I never told a soul about it thinking that it was bad enough it was happening to me. Same fugitive again. But I did not pay attention. I went to the building and it had spiral winding stairs on the side. I grappled and sweated like a mad dog in panic. Climbed those stairs and reached Dr. KrishnaRai_______ Goswami's clinic. I do not even know this name in real world. Again, in retro I wonder why I did not tell mom or dad to take me. They don't know this man. I stumbled upon the brown marble plaque with his name etched on it. Now the paranoia was at its zenith. I had to go back to retrieve the bag. I could feel fugitive eyes on it. I rushed back. The whole street was still dark and empty. When I went back, he was out of hiding, exactly advancing towards the bag. He climbed B like me, and fell but could not reach the bag. I reached there and told him, I never really resisted you. Leave the phone, leave the bag, I begged and pleaded. It is me who is here, then what else do you want? The hungry wolf pondered over the proposition and weighed it better. He let the bag go in oblivion and advanced towards me. I actually felt like the "femme fatale" with plans for puppets. What shame! And then suddenly, like Alex, I started belching. I caught hold of him and belched more, cried "in and out" and puked utter, sheer yellow bile on him. By now I was half aware of what I was dreaming and the funny bit was that I was actually quite aroused and my face bore a scared expression. It was like I could freeze that emotion, take a photo and replace this whole text. Super obscene, gross, all veiled reactions to few actual happenings, few desired happenings and few imagined ones. What a harlot, touched and brushed!

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

We are your parents!

Act one:
A girl is sitting on the second bench, this is at least the seventieth hour of her sitting idle like this, gradually tilting, stretching, yawning and then getting up again. She starts scribbling on the last page of her book because she has made a pact with her teacher to shut up and not show off her cadavre exquis* which is an act of automatism, spontaneous(*her level of the subject rotting away,decadent and mossy). The teacher comes and snatches away the personal journal. Yet another fight, another act of defiance against a teacher with 27 years of spotless track record ( of handling students and convincing them that they can never learn). This time it is too much girl. Go, go and try and stay away from my class. The girl shouts," That is what I try and do but I need attendance."

Act two: (no popcorn)
Another day at class. Teacher comes, she also comes. Go, go shameless girl to the dean (who, btw is my husband, snigger). The dean seems sympathetic only, inquires on family background, thinking scum-ness runs in family. He says he is acting parent blah. Girl thinks man understands and tells him how it has been hundred hours of sitting idle and she could do with some poetry. He loses it. He says she has "irritated" a teacher (his wife!) and is a slur to a well formed, structured, long running legacy of teaching which is a thankless profession( read as: I don't even understand why you want to read more than needed, these new age women. What shit queer studies you mumble? That won't make you dean of divine college! Will that get you a husband, or will you walk out on him also if things go awry?) She realises it is time for last trick, lower eyes, bend head and chant " Sorry sir, won't happen again, i assure obedience sir..." Again, she slips by, nonetheless humiliated and threatened suspension. The girls' loo is right next, she goes in a sheds two tears and wonders what was so revolting about writing " Car vois tu chaque jour, je t'aime davantage, aujourd'hui plus qu'hier et bien moins que demain"
So, she just drags feet and walks home, waiting for one more more year to pass by.

Scratching is addictive

When a mosquito bites and you touch the sting place, scratching is addictive, until it gets red, swollen, sore and it hurts. People hurt as well when they become so addictive that you wait to see them the whole day, the last moment of departure and just see and smile and fade away. The ones you want to invest time and energy into are just too dazed, lost and indifferent. But what do Chamko? Confounded, so many special people change, so many lives... where were you when we were getting high. So I am bored. I could shine every man's shoes and comb his moustache, iron every cassock and still you wouldn't come. Am I the only sad song around? All this inadequate feeling about self just gets on to me! Yes, I ain't good or special or pretty or brainy enough. But Mister Carl Rogers, come and show me unconditional positive regard! Where is it? I painted, I could feel eyes going up and down the staircase gazing beyond, the gaze on my canvas almost mirrored and telling me, we are looking at you! Scratch the niche of the elbow. Those mosquitoes keep company when you feel like a jilted wife of bathe. I can almost feel red fishnets up my thighs and smeared joker rouge on my face. Eh, who said I grew up? Who thought anyone could ever grow out of basic human things like love and rejection, blushing, dreaming, dejection, luna rides and the addictive habit of scratching balls. No, it is for both, for the other it is an attempt to annoy. Write more later on same.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Tattaglia, the "G" is tangy

A casual high-wordedness in Sinai:

Balmer: The Machiavelli's soul is I, staring into your fragile truth
Mortitia: Ah! So you challenge me to blurt word hymns.
Balmer: The word is desire ,is humane, is life.
Mortitia: Life is but a corn field. Quite corny with cheese.
Balmer: Where is the pleasure if i see no pain, where is the life if i see not beauty of death and where am I if my people don't follow the trail of my experiences.
Mortitia: Be alone, be a parasite, suck misery suck life,feed on living souls. Only then will the futility bear fruits.
Balmer: Let every moment be the fruit of a past mistake, but i shall keep repeating them with passion.
Mortitia: Ha! So human! To fall with passion and err with joy.
Balmer: My greatness is in folly and grins and grunts. Your weakness is the other edge of the sword.
Mortitia: I wade in darkness with the sword of desire, the edge of the sword, the glinting pain in others' pleasure.
Balmer: Sword coated with sweet pain pierces every heart, but in the end, the pain lingers.
Mortitia: Pain lingers, pain bonds,intersecting spectrum's refracting pain,all find a common shade
Balmer: Wisdom i despise. I seek wisdom of my identity. Let the facet of my being shine a ray straight into the realms of insanity.
Mortitia: Wise self proclaimed,gloating in self adoration,your world though miserable never bears misanthropes.
Balmer: Two things float into my awareness... how cruel is knowledge and what power doth it possess.
Who are you?

Mortitia: Ignorance,the haven of whom you refute existence.
Balmer: Silence is a mechanical perfection. I revere imperfections and live to die another day.
Mortitia: Then blessed be you. Enjoy this stay on lush grass of plenitude and plethora.
Balmer: The most unknown is my carnal truth but one day i shall speak it in your ears.
Mortitia: Oh! so leave as all others do, a tale ever debated,of who stays when all must go.
Balmer: And so it comes a full circle, another lesson re-learned. there is passion on the journey upwards. There is universe at the top. There is satisfaction on the way back. A daily hike.

Mortitia: I will wait till the rain comes crashing down on your face,with fuller circles beneath your feet , till my whispers drown in the abundance of your stormy soliloquies and then i shall perish but with a twinkle in the eye.

Balmer: Maybe its just the falling that does the trick. Maybe we are both frogs seeing our world in others just the way it was.
Mortitia: No i dare not fall in the same life, painful brandishing its boredom to me, give me love ,hate,fury and wrath but encapsulated in cases new.
Balmer: On other thoughts... Palms are soggy.
Mortitia: No this life lies in the trench of your palms.
Balmer: Fisting shall be my pleasure.
Mortitia: Of your grand eloquent yet intriguing words i know not, of what i read is my own mind ,blank and submissive to every niche of it.

Balmer: If ye understand the articulations of thy own mind, i shall bow down to you in discipline
Mortitia: i demand not thine slavery, neither a tame beast i desire, of what i crave is the poison of youth and the fetters of the same youthful love...

In the train, icicles on bile bag

Collect spontaneous outbursts of iggle-oggle creativity. Sad face Pa,I am leaving again. And the face turned 180 only to bare buckteeth. Then started off the 1600kms with Binah, Abana, Sekhmet and Ms.Lilo dally. Around those oblong elliptical silhouettoes and bulging bile bags consuming ever more, burping sounds from a distant universe. You just want to hush em off and empty your bile bag. Or-kid-ium all around, icicles rubbing up against the skin, a rough wry pimply wrinkled face and the train still jerks on. It moves a little, shakes you, rocks the cradle, balances the timely falls and moves on. Enough you all morons around feeding attention to a pack of cards! I marched out. Beyond the travelogue frame scenes of green and brown, the eye fixates on patches of blue. Blue in the sky, water and then turning grey, some blue spattered suddenly on your hand, in the crevices of those black nails. You see fluid, plasmic, orgasmic, color! Bursting peals of laughter around as the feet long to live the becky dream of running on the black soft mud. Imagine winkle, if orange peels grew on olive creepers and cried indigo tears all day... Flaming red brittle strands all wet in an inundation of sheer heathen ignorant joy... Hop on a train and jump before the destination. You ll feel like me! A run away!


I think he knows. I don't know what and how much but an idea at least. The problem is not that he objects to what i have done or am doing but is that he comes to question, " what are you becoming?" Frankly i myself have no idea what i am. I have become a leech, a dirty promiscuous leech. All I hope for is that he can gain trust in me again. I tell him what the whole world does and how they are. But i never knew he was pointing at me. Now i doubt he will ever believe me again. Logs or no logs for all you know, i fucking hate myself. Its not because of what i do because i resolve conscience issues before i move but I never want him to look down upon me. But do you even realise that I am so hooked on to this highly surveilled virtual world only because in the real world i am surrounded by a deep isolation. I aspire a lot and i take the convenient ways to reach. Even though i know that you can trace every action of mine, i still fall "prey" to that world. Why? Because i am crushed under the burden of being a good girl for you and doing what i always wanted to. The good, healthy and wholesome society that you think "we" belong to, i never did. But its not like i meant to be so. What could a person left alone in the house, not spoken to for hours, explained to do this and not that, expected to perform, do? I have been alone and hence even today i crave for company. If i get easy and cheap company of any sort that i feel like relying upon, i tend to fall. I don't know what you know and i don't care to know what you know. Just forget what you know and maybe we all can make a fresh start.
After a long time of being touted as a victor, example and all that, i am not what you think i am.
All i can say is i am sorry.
Its in spite of me that i do it.
But it won't affect you now.

A butterfly on jam!

There are days when you wake up to happy moments. In spite of ebbs and tides throughout the day, all you can do is grin foolishly at people! You are happy. You are Buddha, Mahavir, Osho, Zarthustra and company in a blue and gold cassock. Not that Illumination may arise but you get a deep pleasure that digs into your being, a warm spring of giggle. That's a jour perfetto. The dog is happy. I bit into a pie. And the superman was all mine to enjoy. Delicious is all i can say. Even the frog was amazed at the minor. Some fanciful Indic script stored in the the bazaars of an over flowing mind. Every drop of sentiment that filtered through me can be described on yellow white chocolate paper... Even at the end of the day trails a sweet exhaustion which i feel proud to carry.

Rage, determination and mediocre wantings

Me strives to calm her soul but ants just bite and emerge even in Eden. And then she flares up... To those who may not relent, suffer! Morbid, filthy hatred for those leeches who just happen to slug in and tug along with even the most torn of your socks. But cyber-space Sekh! It deserves urchins, cats, burps and buffalo rider guevaras! No nina, one must use tolerance and determination and stay away from green seeds of jealousy... Yes my lady vengeance must change to ivy and then darker. Slithering snaky, hissing shrewd wealth like that basilisk's eyes. Aim to annihilate. Strength it seems of a character. Character not of those quintessential virtues. It's a mutual contract of wrong doings. Hence no justification one gives to the other part of the same.

To the dead, the shocked and society presidents

J'ai du faire toutes les guerres pour etre si forte qu'aujourd'hui,
J'ai du faire toutes les guerres, de la vie, de l'amour aussi...

Cued recall... Phonlogy...Nano...
Deadlines... Lines where the dead can't move further on...
You know what Mister Nakata! I ain't gonna idle away so easily. It's not really hard to see you die. Not even Mister Kawamura whimpering away can tickle my senses. But then there are others who die! Others whom you actually care for and latently, patiently wait to brush past again so that you could glance with big dark eyes and start wobbly talks of lilies and rhododendrons. They just happen to be dead one day when you come asking for them and trust me I can't tolerate such abrasive divine murders! I know there i a wall. See my head red swollen, eh? It's that sore mark from banging against it! I am almost tired of wandering around asking for these lost people in some nocturnal alley. All there is, is hope, some hope borne by shock against limp, rotten bodies. Psst... I have an idea and I'll beat that grim of him/her this time. There just has to be a device by which i get a minute in time. I will trade it and tell those dead what awaits them. They may not heed me but Mister Nakata, even you spoke of leech rains and no one ever believed you! Can't i just get one minute more to see them in action? Argh, I know you can't, the devil of your son! But watch it, it's an a priori that there is a way to shake these slack puppets. Even you, the stubborn KFC colonel! Dispose them before they decay. The deal is to bump into this obstinate guy called "Good God". HE is a bit slow it seems. Pha! fools of faith should be resurrected and not buried with a pinch of salt. Incite him and provoke his inabilities. Not that this positivist harangue will churn results but the tramp of me is cross today! Yesterday i howled and wept to the sea and then looked at the blank sky. My problem is that it is an anticlimax! At least i am not gonna wait for a bus to crush into me and puncture my ribs to powder. The clock's ticking away but my time has not come... A fraction of a second to experience shivers down your spine, body disintegrating to screws and bolts.

To the speechless, thus spake the fatalist! Away ye idiots, run till you want it yourself.
To the shocked, Come out of the melancholic inferno. You are still on earth and hence stop the mummy game with gothic look.

To the naive... A tear, gaping wide, a smirk... a yell from other way and we are back on track, though puzzled a bit too much.

All we need is bread, fish and a yawn

Call me Mona. Even LaVey does. Incestuous beasts. Satanism it seems. Moors and mourning bells, morbid i feel. Ah! its nice, bring more of wine and exudated veins of butterflies... haha..sick laugh...
Let's climb on to each other and mash the pulp out.

Gay listless retro

There are words I mean,
And those that I utter,
There are someI support
and some just slip away.
There is love and amity.
On the other side of the ocean,
There's honesty bitter.
You choose and the choice is but yours,
Never realised a fact.
Its all a game of mirrors.
We are all the same.
Atoms of the clan.
Just that mirrors are different,
Reflections and refractions
And I act,react and retrospect.
There are songs of spring
Wish you never sang them.
There are faces you adored.
My only desire, to port such a skin.
But things dont come so easy,
They dont come so bright.
There are bleak moments, dim spaces
In the Abyss of eternal light.
In those niches,constants stay
Like shadows in the sun
Dreams on the run,
Just in a momentary fatigue.
Of course there's fatigue, the ideal burden weighs on them,
Just stay,watch me oscillate and look back at you,
The Stable Point in Cosmos,
The bearer of the Pendulum
So come again ,the likes of Robin,
For this time it is for you to advance.
Retrace and withdraw it wouldnt surprise,
If you would ever know
How Powerful Memoirs are...

Ishmael and Tarsier.

Yes, indeed the besotted quoth Ishmael. The knower and the believer. Innit it difficult to know? Yes, spake I. Innit in my big eyes, the truth, wondered T. Yes, i waved my rash hairy hands in delight. Perception, you ignorant Anna! Don't fool with me, I! Hehe, smirk. See the problem. It is not me, I! Yes, indeed it's me,I. Is it difficult to believe T? Not if you never knew what was coming but you knew you had to move. Snow was hurtling down my ears. Wiping every trace of sound, hugging my every cell, Ishmael. It isn't all that easy. Life.Rainy nightmares in snow lands. Watery pools of leeches.Coils hissing. Dreary mates of some shameless harlot's womb! I cannot stand this tyranny when i know it! I don't envy half-bloods. They disgust me! But, they are your own semen Tarsier. No, yelled the fugitive in T. Ok I, let's talk fear. I feel fear all the time but something goes strange about it! Scratching of the ear and yellow eyes focus on T. Is it like you fear the water and fear it so much that once you go near it, you want to jump in it? Like you fear heights and once you are on a mountain you want to jump off it? Sigh... extremely panoramic fear in T? YES! yes I, I cannot help but feel it. Ecstatic, wavering and volatile on this side of life, T? Seemingly calmer and definite on the other? asked I. voice trailed away.
Tags: still to be edited.

Kubla, Fromm and Penis Envy

Twas a vision indeed mister Freud! Believe me! I saw warrior Khan from the mounts of Mongolia and the atheist Erich Fromm! Wonder how Ms. Sylvie would react to the heretically obnoxious spiders in her language. Nervous trembling, clasping of hands, gasping. Eye Candy... that'z wot eet seiz huh? yes, mister Freud! i couldn't believe it. Not at all. I could only choose a white tiger as my pet, not go around singing "Omlette Du Fromage". Ah, wot eez zat? Remember, DeeDee sings it for dexter... Hmmm...pause... cigar...Fixation murmur. What about the vision? Oh, yes. There was a Buffalo. Fetishes? Only Buffaloes, pigs, owls and burgers. Are you women even supposed to see all these Missus? Well...a twitch. I saw Psychoanalysis sir, it was there all the way! I see new chests open and Kublai Khan ranging up his castle. The stream on Tehran has dried as well. Could it be Psychosis, Neurosis or just simple deprivation. Climb up you naive, your God is dead! Your Buffaloes will die soon and of you...tch tch...we couldnt never do much... sigh.

The Gyaan of Sephirots

Thus Z---- spoke:
He said the young one is tiny. Tiny as a bean. The chalk flipped. Of course, the lad was humming low snores. Pink matted books on the table were the destined battle ground of the gory archanoids. Hush... the class is over. smirk. But Madam! Meh! She is yet to charge out, trampling on bits of lime. That slob. Blanc and azure air punching holes into that grey matter. Then exclaimed he, the ill fated messiah of overbrainy delinquents. Isn't it a universal responsibility of Homo Sapiens to resurrect the chocolate eating down trodden amongst them?Ecce Homo?Cogito Ergo Sum? How wonderful be it to efface existence and silently creep in the corner! But alas!
The xenophobic butterfly in the grey garden flapping away to holocaustic glory. Me imagines. That's all that remains. The Cathedral's whore has chimed again. Present the mistress of spray and sputum! Yes, my lord. 'Tis time for a rave. Across the yellow opium papyrus. A trance indeed, the smell at each stroke of the finger. Mister Polo meet Missus Behn. Ah dear Schopenhauer skewing frowns at that murderer, for God's sake(dead already!)it's a deja vu! Well well, let's not trifle! We almost missed mister James, the son of Yehwah's progenitor. Poof! Missus!I could do with Brooke S! D'ye rilly fink we kids o' elementary high'd give a damn 'bout ye Hiss-stawriii. Purhaps we mite wanna rock it to Nirvana or root fer the Gunners!
Indeed, precious moments of blank, slated minds ground to a fine melange of white, dipped in the strangest of wet whites and charred in the white lights of wisdom, wilt away within time frames. All that we could all say after years of cooperative tyranny , was Amen.

Incoherent Inc.

Apples on the Moon,
Water On the sun.
Ants in grass blade fights,
Starry dawns in black eyes.
Pollens on the tongue,
Ticks in the throat's attic.
Icicles on hand,
Strong Castles of Sand.
A fountain falling high,
On a beanstalk of airy white.
In a Red drowsy cottage,
Dreams on doors, wishful windows.
Granny's folktales drizzling,
An infantile giggle in grown up grouches.
Royal breakfasts with hot chocolate,
Bottles of honey, Marmalade jars.
Flying kites and teary eyes,
A turn of a knob, a creak of the panes and...
Out goes flying, my being.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

A crèche-crash day

Since five years of age I was put in a crèche because mom and dad were both working and could not possibly leave me home. Grandparents were all away in other cities and the only logical option was to seek refuge in this divine haven of temporarily abandoned children. I used to go to this place which was run by a lady in her own house. She would keep us there till evening when at last our parents would come after work and pick us up. The family had no apparent trouble because her children would be away to school or work and her husband too, would return only in the evening. So, it was some twenty of us with an old lady and her house.
Everything was well planned for the day. I would be dropped by the school auto rickshaw to this place along with three other friends. She would help us change our clothes and then would hurry us all to the kitchen. The next activity was lunch. All had to line up with their Tiffin boxes and sit down to eat. You had to finish with everybody else and not litter the place. It was almost a sin to be faster or slower. Prayers were compulsory before lunch. Post lunch, all would wash hands and hurry to the next room to do their homework. After one hour of doing school homework (or at least pretending to), we would take our bed sheets from a stack in the corner and lay them. Indeed, it was time for a nap. You want it or not, small children have to have such naps. They speak of how well our lady Leela (that was the hag’s name) took care of us. Routines are always a good sign. Even parents quite liked this idea of a boring, mundane, strictly safe and predictable place. But, we weren’t really the obedient kinds, at least, not me. So, the moment others would try and sleep on their sheets, I would drape it on my face and from one corner, I would observe Lady Leela. Gradually when noises calmed down, she would switch on the television in the same room. Much of my Hindi film viewing comes from such hidden niches of feigned noon siestas.
If this was not it, the schedule continued till around seven o’clock in the evening. She would wake us from the “nap” at around five and get us all to grab some fresh air by pushing us to her balcony. Crammed, twenty of us would chatter away to glory. Gradually, during my years there, I discovered that many more people used to take “naps” like me. After inhaling some air and looking down at the people on the road, we would all sit down in a line for tea, the ritual where we drank milk. Leela aunty had a much prized flirty son and four daughters. While the son loafed away with a purported occupation of a compounder, the daughters did all humble jobs to contribute to a happy middle class family living. The son had a special affection for me and another friend and would get us chocolates to eat. I hated him, the way her looked and smiled and teased us. He was not harmful but he was annoying to the core.
The worst part of such crèche days was afternoon. Sometimes when mommy was free in her lunch breaks, she would drive to the crèche and feed me lunch with her hands. I would be elated to see other kids eat alone while my mum sitting there with me. Somewhere deep down, I was glad not to be left alone at home. This was less depressing. But, she would soon have to go away and that was when big tears welled up in my eyes. I would cry and moan and sulk till the day end when she reappeared. I wonder where my father was all this time. I honestly wonder if he ever knew how every afternoon, with my face pressed to the balcony grill I would wait for mum to come, sometimes she would and then go away, and I would be so sad and helpless. I doubt she discussed it with him. It was just not in this family to discuss such stuff; it was almost natural for all to suffer like this. That is how perhaps kids grew to become adults.
Then, in the evening, mum would rush again to pick me up. This was Leela auntie’s favorite hour. She would complain and grudge and pour all her woes out to the parents about their kids. Luckily, I was a low profile brat so she never bothered. But, sometimes before this last task of the hour, if the day was sunny enough, she would get us all to go down to the open space nearby. There was a big Gulmohar tree there. Leela aunty had a friend, Jasu aunty. Jasu aunty had a big iron rod. We would meet up with her and pluck the choicest of flowers and savor them. Oh, it was good fun! Suddenly the day wouldn’t seem so gloomy. I would smile once in a while. I had a friend Deepa who had Down’s syndrome. Though she was moderately affected, it was pretty visible through her behavior. Mummy had told me that we should talk nicely to such people, that they are not bad people. So, when other friends laughed at her and refused to share their toys, I would give her my red Mickey Mouse compass box because she liked banging it. I didn’t mind it because she shared her cream roll with me!
Talking of toys, the point of biggest contention, were the toys of Hardi, a school friend. When things like Barbies were still unknown to me, she had them along with tiny wooden tables and chairs and other such things. I was always lured by the wooden cupboard. Its drawers could be opened and you could put Barbie’s clothes in it. I dared not ask my mum or dad for it, for no obvious reason at all. But Hardi only shared her toys with a selected five or six girls including me. Of course, there would be hapless days when we would fight and this joy was taken away. But I guess that was just the expected consequence of calling her names.
This is how I would crash through an entire day in that crèche till the age of eleven. Then I was isolated and put away alone at home which was a new territory altogether. I never missed the crèche and was only too glad to come off home but, somewhere I still vividly remember it and keep asking mum what happened to Leela aunty and family. She says they vacated the house and now no one knows. The last picture that comes to mind is of a fading train filled with Leela and family, all their belonging, many children like me, eating cream rolls and sitting in a line, all saying good bye for the day to family.

The tale of tide country: Mythical play

Dukkhen: A poor fisherman
Dokkhin Rai: An evil spirit ruling the seven last islands of Tide Country
Bon Bibi: The protector good spirit that saves good hearted clean souls
Adharma Rai: A greedy wealthy landlord who deals in different fish

Scene One
Dawn is about to set in. Chirping of birds in the background, flute playing”Bhairava” raga. The air is moist and waves could be heard washing the rocks which fill the periphery of the stage
Dukkhen [humming lowly in a Bengali dialect anchors his boat near the shore and calls for someone]: Aye! Babu éshechhé? Has Rai Babu come? We should leave before more clouds come in the sky. Not good sign, you see clouds.
Boy: Na, no one has come. Why? Are you going somewhere dada?
Dukkhen: Yes, on a fishing trip with Rai Babu and his group. They want to go to the island after ImilyBari, to find fresh stock of Katla and Rohu. We should leave early, I told them, before the ebb sets in.
In the distance four men are seen. A plump man with a cane stick in hand, dressed richly compared to the other three. All are coming towards the boat. As they come near, he waves to Dukkhen dressed in a tattered blue loincloth. The pink cheeked man with a walrus like mouth is Adharma Rai coming with his men.
Adharma Rai: Aye Dukkhen! Ja, beriye ja! Goru, where all did we not look for you? Since early dawn we were wandering around. Be quick now, is the boat ready? We four will come along and you know where to go. We want to go beyond ImilyBari.
Dukkhen [lifting the anchor]: Yes, Babu. All is ready. I was here only. I hope you know that where you want to go is a wild area. They say it is Dokkhin Rai’s area and the ones who must not be named live there.
Adharma Rai [With a smug knowing smile]: You village folk! You understand nothing of this world. Now world is progressing so much and you still believe in stupid folktales. I am all set to go and remember I am paying you good money. Decide quickly. About the tigers…
Dukkhen puts his hand on Rai’s lips to avert him from saying the name
Dukkhen [fear in eyes]: Na, Babu! I beg you don’t repeat it. It brings bad luck. You know about Monjul’s son.
Adharma Rai [slightly annoyed]: Enough. Climb in. These men will protect us from the beast of the jungle.
Scene two
In the middle of Ganga amidst mangroves, the boat is nearing a pool where the fish gather by late morning. The air is heavy and they have long crossed ImilyBari. The place is isolated and completely silent. Dukkhen is breathing heavy after three hours of continuous rowing. Rai Babu is looking around, his men dipping nylon nets to catch any fish around
Dukkhen: Babu, this is the pool where I have heard that fish come. We will anchor here and wait for some time.
Adharma Rai: You lazy rascal! Tired so fast? [Sternly] We will go a bit further near the banks when you catch some breath. Sachi, Mohan, Nogen; keep your lines ready. I intend to catch some good fish today.
Dukkhen: Where to now, Babu?
Adharma Rai: There, [pointing towards the banks nearby which appear to be some island] we will get down there and then Sachi and Nogen will come with you while I and Mohan stay on the shore to unload.
Dukkhen: Bhalo! [Resumes humming some song which seems like a mix of Bengali and Arabic]
After the two men get down, Dukkhen, Sachi and Nogen row away from the shore. They go out of sight. Rai Babu stretches a bit and walks around the fringes of the island while Mohan readies bags to stock the fish. Rai wanders a bit further when he sees something glint in the dark. Greedy Adharma Rai, thinking it to be some lost treasure on this uninhabited island moves to inspect it. Mohan does not notice him move away.
Adharma Rai [to himself]:
Ah Swarga! Glorious future right ahead I have,
What cleverness of me to have landed here!
To these men with minds small as fish
Never will fate reveal a penny mere.
But, wise men as me, it finds us well
And once seen our forays in the wild
By our spirit even God is beguiled
Blessed we are with sounds so rich
And worthy remains even in such dark a niche!
Let me advance, quickly and leap
On that awaiting fortune in heap!
He quickens his step and moves following the yellow shimmer. He forgets how deep he has gotten into the forest. The banks are nowhere in sight and there is a faint smell of flesh. Adharma Rai moves around the stage. Single spotlight, sudden flash, another spotlight, a tiger appears out of the bush. Rai loses balance and falls on the ground.
He is terrified beyond words and can’t muster courage to cry out. His heart is caught in his Adam’s apple. Gasps release his mouth and his eyes are blinded. He waves in frantic desperation and faints.
Scene three
He wakes up after some time. The tiger is still poised on a low branch. Instead of growling and purring it almost sighs and starts to speak something that resembles human tongue.
Dokkhin Rai: Hah! Welcome my friend! Of course you knew where to find me. And I knew where to find my right man. So, where do I start? [A contented smile] The limbs, liver, lungs or… the heart? [Wicked grin] Ummm… Fresh meat. So, greed brought you here, is it? That familiar golden shimmer? How naïve! Now, now, you must not be so petrified! You even dare take my name, didn’t you! [Growls loudly enough to make leaves of trees around quiver]
Adharma Rai: I don’t know what to say actually. I really don’t know why I am still alive. Why did you not kill me in my sleep? [Weeps miserably] Please don’t tear me apart. I am just a greedy foolish man. I only came here to make some money. Take all that I have and leave me. Please, I will never invade your islands again! Pity!
Dokkhin Rai: [mock pity] Ah! Leave you my friend? But no! To me, your cries are like jingling gold, so inviting. How can I not be greedy? Do you think I am above lust and hunger? What do you do when someone barges into your house? [Takes a circle around Adharma who is fallen on the floor] Do you leave the burglar? Do you not derive pleasure in beating him and scratching all the skin off his body? Try it! [Sadistic delight] I so want to lynch all the coiling flesh in your stomach! But, we share some common spirit! Greed! It makes you blind, doesn’t it? Blind enough to draw your own beloved’s blood.
He wanders a bit, looks skywards and softens in features, thoughtful, then looks again at Babu.
Dokkhin Rai: Let’s see. If I let you off, what can you give me in return? Rack your brains you smart tradesman! What can be so precious as a life, rotten though by contempt and greed, yet a life nevertheless?
Adharma Rai: [Wiping off beads of sweat, thinks for a while and then his pale face brightens up] How about devouring on a body, less fleshy but innocent soul, pure and uncorrupted? Utter real fear will grip his heart and his blood will be clean red! The most pitiable creature! Nowhere a match to your power and sharp senses! There can’t be a better bargain, my lord!
Dokkhin Rai: [Thinks for a while and then seems genuinely interested, intrigued more so] Sounds good but don’t take me to be a fool! [Growl] Where in these times will you get me such a simple prey? Old though I am, not senile enough to let you go for some lanky piece of meat that will make me run around! Tell me quick [His paw brushes Babu’s face].
Adharma Rai [Seeing a solution, very happy]: Ah! Just command! On my boat is a man, as simple and pure as I described. I assure you a different taste altogether! Just let me get him! Please!
Dokkhin Rai: Hmmm… okay. Go! Bring him to me before the sun sets. It is noon. Beware! You are in my lands. You will pay heavily for your treachery! Here, justice prevails, though slightly differently.
Scene four
Adharma rushes towards the banks, panting for breath, still unable to believe if it was a dream. All he knows now is to find the lamb and hand him over and get out to never visiting this place. This is an entr’acte but nothing is behind the curtain. Adharma will pretend to run on the same spot but people dressed in black and green will come and change the setting behind and the other characters will take position, Dukkhen on the center right beside Adharma, Sachi and Mohan behind him and Nogen behind Adharma. There is loud echoing music (Krishna Das-Gregorian Chants).
Adharma Rai [huffing and puffing to Dukkhen]: Quick! Go inside! I mean… I just found a big pond inside where they live… some kind of pearl fish. Go, you will make money! Just go fast! Why are you so still! Fool, time is running out!
Dukkhen [perplexed at the urgency and generosity]: Are you telling me Babu? Ki holo Babu Shaheb? I have never heard of pearl fish in Tide country! Why are you sending me? I thought you didn’t like me! Tumi shotti bolchi? Why are you helping me?
Adharma Rai: No, no, of course not! I mean you deserve it. You sailed us here, took all our complaints, never grudged, and took reasonable fare. You completely deserve it. I am just eager for you to get ‘em before they go! Shotti!
Dukkhen [simply]: Oh okay! Right away I will get them. Please take care of the boat. Do you think I should take Nogen along?
Adharma Rai: No, no! He is a crook! Don’t bother dear! Just run away. I will see to your boat.
While Dukkhen marches innocently, Rai explains the situation to his comrades. They hop on the boat and make a dash for home. On the other hand, Dukkhen is already staring in the eyes of the tiger, bewildered more than fearful. Things seem to unwind in his mind.
Dokkhin Rai: Ah! You are indeed my innocent feast! You have dared enter my islands to rob me of my treasures! Did you think I would spare you? Who can save you here? All your friends have left you already! [Laughs aloud] Oh mortal! Pray to your deities! Ask them to save your soul! [Slowly]Do you have anyone?
Dukkhen [mustering courage]: Aren’t you the wicked spirit that must not be named? My mother told me when I was young! She also said that for all of a good heart, Bon Bibi would serve as the angel of life! She would resurrect us men from your clutches. I am sure she can save me!
Dokkhin Rai: Hahaha… This is my land! Dare she come my comrades will tear her apart. She and her brother Shah Jongoli! Both have annoyed me greatly! Call them! Let me fight and win you from them!
Scene five
Dukkhen starts chanting the same humming chants which sound like a mélange of Sanskrit, Bengali and Arabic, an invocation to rouse Bon Bibi and her brother Shah Jongoli from the deserts across Arabia to call them here to his aid. The tiger jumps around in wrath, becoming more furious by the moment.
Dukkhen: Bismillah! Bon Bibi, ami ke raksha korbe… Tvam gyaanam asi, tejomaya devi amar rooh rakshanam korbe…ami premal, shuddha chitta…
Dokkhin Rai watches curiously, still wondering with a tinge of disbelief if Bon Bibi will come.
Then, suddenly, there is a noise farther in the woods; anklets can be heard brushing the bushes as they pass. A sweet smell of musk fills the air, so intoxicating that the tiger gets fuzzy for a moment. Then suddenly, a lady with peacock’s feathers attached to her hands appears. Her face is smeared with vermillion and her eyes are big and black with kohl. She faces Dukkhen and he becomes silent. Then she looks at Dokkhin Rai and smiles as if meeting a long lost friend.
Bon Bibi: Aye, Dokkhin, kemonnaché? It’s been such a long time we met! Not up to your dirty tricks anymore? Not gorging up fresh meet now or is it just that I see old age setting on you? [Smirks]
Dokkhin Rai: Aye, sheesh. I don’t have time Bibi. I have to kill you today to eat up my prey. He thinks you can save him, you, a fragile tiny thing. Your magic is good to please the stupid girls and boys of the village, not hurt the likes of me! [Growl] Let us finish this macabre dance fast so that I can claim my prize!
Bon Bibi: Sure! [Voice growing louder] Let us finish with you for once and for all. No longer will I let you feast on innocent and good men! You will be taught an appropriate lesson. Never again will you harass those weaker to you! You evil spirit! You will pay today for all the misdeeds of your past. I will offer you to the Ganga today! [To Dukkhen] Don’t fear, man! You are a good man with a clean soul. You prize your own tales of the country and your faith has drawn me here. I will slay this demon and free you.
Dukkhen: [tears of joy in his eyes] Khoob Bhalo, Mata! Please save me! I have never even hurt a single thing in my life and I have always prayed to God in good and bad times. [To Dokkhin Rai] I said she would come! I knew it. Oh beast of fury and vanity, have wisdom enough to accept defeat!
Dokkhin Rai: Never! Never will I bear such words from an insect like you! I will smash all of you to pieces!
Dokkhin Rai and Bon Bibi stand in the centre of the stage. Dukkhen moves to the right wing as if looking from a distance. Drums of war in the background and conch shell is blown. Rai and Bibi stand facing each other at a distance and take two half rounds as if preparing for war. A short mime of fight for almost two minutes, at the end of which the tiger lays vanquished on the ground in the centre. The spotlight on the tiger dims as he winces in pain. The lady regains a calm posture and sits in the center on a rock, slightly above ground level. She beckons to Dukkhen with a smile. He tiptoes very precariously and goes around the tiger, examining him. Then he leans and bows down to the lady
Dukkhen: I do not have words to thank you O holy goddess! You have saved me from this man eater and granted me a new life. How can I pay you back?
Bon Bibi: No, my son! I only come to rescue those of pure and clean hearts. If you ever wish to pay me back, go and teach all the sons and daughters of your village the virtue of a pure conscience!
Dukkhen: Yes, mother! I will do so. Also, I will build an altar to you and will pray to you every Nag Ponchomi with all my village brethren. May your divine grace protect us all, O spirit of the tide country!
Fade out.
The narrator’s voice comes in. “Since then, all the people of the Tide Country worship the goddess Bon Bibi and her brother Shah Jongoli on Nag Ponchomi. They offer a pudding of milk and rice to her and chant that muffled verse that Dukkhen used to hum. And so passes on the tale of Bon Bibi, the tale of the tide country...

All we needed was a seed of lou

He saw the poem. I do not know how far it struck him. But I am talking to him!
Hah, it is a big fat lie. I do not know how it will end but I hope it ends well. Or maybe he will eventually fall in love with my lie and accept the truth as well. I just hope the Cinderella story works for me, for once… groan. He is cute, adorable and the best, he sees the same questions as I do. So, maybe I can detach easily and come back when I want. Not only that, I hope I look well. I am going to meet him today. I hope things work well. Pha! Can this happen to me? Only time will tell. La la la…

I will not message in the lead, will always wait for him to message to be sure he wants to talk as much as I do. I met Gumbo today. He is so sure about it all. Even his life has changed so much. But, he still cares for me. Maybe like some sister or child. I am safe. Him, the other one, or not, I am still safe. Jabberwocky and experiments in logic of daily utterances have to be tested yet. Oh but, I am on radio! Finally! Oh yes, that lotus gentleman recited the poem in class! Pha! What dishonor more than this when I am absent!

Song of ourselves

A Song of Ourselves

We slept through millenniums
I amaze at us sapiens
We learnt to melt and mould
Our haunches, to wax up to strewn benches
And sleep on musty chocolate wood.
That was the later defeat,
The first strategy was to listen
With a searching look,
To ask you evident questions,
To prove you could answer them obviously.
Never mind the sucking up,
We needed your winner smiles.
Eons later you took problem to drooping
Your ears pricked at suppressed snores
Poor you, daring to ask
Let me tell you!
We don't scream and shout, we murmur
You don't see placards and posters, you read indifference
Proletariat revolt is passé! We are mice, you're drawn in our books.
We smirk at your moustache and at the flare of your pants
All your acts are recorded. We laugh at them later
Don't try the equality trick
We have grown beyond illusions of camaraderie.
Look beyond catching us for conduct!
We are upgraded
Our tools are apologies, as yours are disclaimers.
Are you sure you can teach? We are clear
We can't learn! (we know your sympathy with learning disorders)
You are passionate (grin)
We are dumb (sadly)
You think we think we know?
We think you never saw a beating mind (there is one!)
Madness, inopportune hums and
Frequent encounters with alternate realities
Amaze our "assuming" minds.
It is no use telling you all this
We know you don't particularly admire
Absurdist, individualist, and much other pre-modernist thought
But sir, madam, one and all,
We still think and dream.
Maybe there is another way.
Keep trying, best of luck
Be quick! We are waiting for the next one.

(No one can obviously claim singular authorship of this text which traces the history of a species named "student kind" in the cultural context of 21st century's post globalization crises. Also, it does not cite references and the imagery is largely affected by extra sensory perceptions, liberating substances, the prisms of "-isms" and integration of the virtual (perhaps the hyper-real also)with the existing notions of real in a student's life)